I Dream of Microwaves
by TehVoices
Summary: He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath... and letting it out. “Yami... have you been reading my 18th century literature book again?”
1. Of Chatrooms and Chibis

I Dream of Microwaves

_Part One_

**WARNING! **_This fiction made by a fan contains nudity, subtle bashings to other fictions made by fans (such as Mary Sues and yaoi ), cursing, several forms of the word 'spiffy', repitition, incoherrency, repitition, bed-head and incoherrency. It is not suitable for anyone on this plane of existence. Go away. :P_

T.T I don't own Yuugiou. Wah. -gives several cliched heartbroken sobs into Yami Bakura pl00sheh that doesn't really exist-

A train leaves point A at 35.6 kilometers per hour, carrying 47 passengers on board. A much smaller train only carrying 26 passengers leaves point B at 28 miles per hour. Both are travelling to point C, 40,045 yards from point A and 20,395.56 meters from point B. The train travelling from point A has only 75 kiloloters of fuel, whereas the train travelling from point B has 60 dekaliters of fuel. If, on the way to point C, both the trains were attacked by grizzly bears, Train A's conductor turned out to be schizophrenic, Train B promptly imploded and was revitalized by the Dragon Balls, and both suffered a shortage of peanut butter (the shortage for Train A occured three days prioir to Train B's shortage) how long

Malik Ishtal stopped to rub his eyes. Emitting a huff of frustration, he cupped his right cheek in hand and propped himself on his desk again. Toe-stubbingly jarring violet eyes flared 'BOREDOM' as the sun-browned teen tapped a pencil eraser against his temple.

"Good Ra. This history homework is hard."

His features turned sour as the MOUNT FUJI of homework made its presence known once more. Damn it all to hell and back.

Ever since he had started school in Japan, Malik found it increasingly difficult to keep his schoolwork on the up-and-up. In fact, the only class he wasn't failing was biology... in which the class was currently dissecting frogs ("Eeeuhhh... what're you doi-" "AAAAAIIIIEEEEEE! HE'S GONNA KILL US ALL!" "Wh- MISTER ISHTAL! PUT THAT SWORDFISH MODEL DOWN AND RELEASE THE FROG AT ONCE!"). But let's not get into that.

The digital clock displayed '10:36 PM' in fluorescent red digits. Scowling and shaking his sandy-blonde head, the Egyptian cupped both sides of his face and propped his elbows on the desk again. "I am SO finishing this book report!" he muttered, glaring back at the math problem. _Okay. _ he thought, _ I just need to think on its level... I can do this..._

About tens seconds later -

"**_RRRRAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"_** The thouroughly irked bishie bellowed like a wounded tiger, grabbing the the math book and hurling it out of the window. Which wasn't opened.

"**_STUPID SPANISH ASSIGNMENT!_**" At this he heaved the entirity of the MOUNT FUJI of various school assignments and hurled them against the wall. Panting, the triumphant grimace on his face turned to one of 'Huh?' as the MOUNT FUJI of assigments gave a whimper of pain and utter misery.

Of course, we all know that school assigments can only growl venomously, and so Malik realized it wasn't the now mutilated worksheets and text books. He wandered from his now Armageddon-struck room to the source of the noise, as if nothing irregular had just happened. Ha.

He still didn't know his way around Isis's house very well ( Bum. :P ), but stopped at what he knew to be the guest room. A soft sob sounded from within.

"Hello?" he ventured, tapping lightly on the door. Silence. "Any one in th.." he tapped the door again, harder this time, a bit shocked when the door swung open easily.

There, in a half-fetal position on the overly-proportioned windowsill was a piteously sad figure. He could see nothing of its features, for the darkness outside painted it in a veil of shade. The figure spoke without turning, their face pointing up to the pearl-strewn nightsky.

"By watching, I know that the stars are not going to last." it began, voice racked with grief. "I have seen some the best ones melt and run down the sky. Since one can melt, they all can melt; since they can all melt, they can all melt the same night. That sorrow will come - I know it. I mean to sit up every night and look at them as long as I can keep awake; and I will impress those sparkling fields in my soul of souls, so that by and by when they are taken away, I can restore those myriads to the black sky and make them sparkle again, and double them by the blur of my tears."

Now sufficiently freaked out, Malik reached up and pulled the light switch, hesitant as to how the figure just before him would react.

Yami Malik erupted from the crouching fetal position as the picture of despair, the back of his right hand held daintily to his forehead whilst his left was flourished dramatically behind him. Malik blanched visibly as the fully-liscenced psycho killer continued.

"O! My faint heart; how it flutters, like autumn leaves on the gale! Oh woe, how it patters louder and louder, as the hooffalls of a thousand black stallions, forever reminding me of the night that has not yet come! CATCH ME, NOBLE PRINCE!"

Malik, who had long since facefaulted, didn't even bother attempting to catch his yami as the mentally disturbed spirit fell to the hardwood floor with a dull _thud_. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. "Yami... have you been reading my 18th century literature book again?"

A response piped up from somewhere near his feet. "How cowardly of ye, gad sir! Letting a comrade blow by the by in th' Satan's breeze, not hindering yourself to the aid of your lifelong companion! Preposterous!"

"You're the one that fell by choice, idiot."

A brief moment of silence.

"...and it HURT!"

Malik sweatdropped, giving his darker half a flat look as the spirit brushed himself off... and abruptly glomped his hikari, spouting ever more poetic smut, "Ah! It is the first sign!" he exclaimed, half-suffocating Malik as he peered fearfully out of the window. "The sun hath passeth by the Earth, abandoning our empty skies for the comfortable haven of elsewhere! Alas, ours are cruel times coming, for how shall we warm our weary bones from the cold, when our daily eye hath vanished, leaving not even the lingering grin of a Cheshire cat? How might we- MMMFF!"

"S-STOPPIT!" Malik squeaked in a rather un-Maliky way, his voicebox crushed as it was. "It's NIGHTTIME! Weren't you just goiing on about the blurry stars or something?" he slandered his other half's... ahem... _delicate _ display from a moment earlier. The psychotic spirit's lower lip began to tremble; he turned and crossed his arms with a 'hmph'.

"Honestly, hikari..." he tutted, his familiar grating drawl replacing the former rather disturbing squeal. "...you have horrible taste... and no appreciation for the refined arts. So barbaric."

Malik mocked his yami's tutting, replying with a skeptical glance, "So says the one who devours the hearts of his victims."

"I'll repeat it again: You have no appreciation for refined tastes."

"...that's not what you said."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not."

"YES, it IS."

"NO, it's N-"

"FINE!" his yami bellowed, casting a dramatic arm to the conspicuously covered bulky form on the other side of the guestroom. "We shall SEE what I said WITH THE TIME MACHINE I HAVE CONSTRUCTED!"

He ripped the mildew-ridden sheet away, revealing a huge scrap ball of lawnmower, dishwasher, washing machine, and toaster parts. Malik sweatdropped fiercely, reflecting on the possibility that his yami may have too much free time on his hands.

"...I'm not going to ask 'What the Hell', because I know well enough not even Anubis himself, with all of his evil seven-layered fire-and-brimstone empire, would be such an asshead as to build A GIANT BALL OF SCRAP METAL WITH THE PARTS TAKEN FROM MY SISTER'S HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES."

"Oh, you're just jealous."

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess( 22:36:06)**: OMG MY LIFE IS RUINED! Th eboy i like at school thinks im a total idiot!

**RyBkura(22:36:12)**: Really? Could've fooled me.

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess(22:36:18)**: u c, We had a dance today and I knew h ewas going to ask me out even though he acts like he doesnt like me...

**RyBkura(22:36:25): **Poor bastard.

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess(22:36:39)**: so I was going to ask him out so I wanted to look really good so he wouldnt feel bad when he said yes so I got a complete makeover and wanted to put on some really nice impressions not that i really needed it since he always looks rite at me when I wlak in the clasroom...

**RyBkura(22:36:48)**: Smart guy. Never turn your back on a wild animal.

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess(22:36:54)**: and when I went up 2 him after class he was all shy and jumped back when I tried to hu ghim...

**RyBkura(22:37:03)**: Rightfully so. Rabies are contagious, you know.

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess(22:37:10)**: and then I got home and realized why he said No! i put on cocobutter body spray insted of kiwi mellon! and so thten i was like OMG i am Such and idit!

**RyBkura(22:37:18)**: Don't worry. You'll find your one and only someday.

**SuperCutieMegaGoddessPrincess(22:37:25)**: reealy! Do u mean that!

**RyBkura(22:37:31)**: No.

**RyBkura has left the chatroom.**

Yami Bakura smirked lightly, draped languidy in Ryou's computer chair, in front of Ryou's computer, under Ryou's AIM username. He had just recently learned the advantages of modern technology, regretting having not done so sooner. He could mentally scar people in a much smaller area of time - though the lack of bloodshed was a definite bummer. So that was why he kept red strawberries on the desk. Red. Mmm.

Wandering aimlessly about Ryou's Favorites list, the white-haired spirit paused for a moment as a new window popped up on the screen.

**CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE VISITOR 39673937593859679375957694! YOU HAVE WON THE PRIZE OF THE DAY!**

"HOT DAMN!" the tomb robber barked in triumph, leaning forward eagerly. Before he could click the multi-colored box, however, another popped up onto the screen.

**YOU HAVE JUST RECEIVED FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS OF GOLD FROM TAX REFUND! CLICK HERE TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE!**

By now the spirit was salivating, infatuated by the prospect of both a mystery prize and five hundred pounds of gold acquired in mere seconds. Unfortunately for him, his overactive salivary glands would be his undoing... yami-drool spilled out all over the keyboard and mouse. Ewey.

As the yen-eyed yami attempted to click the two windows, his finder slipped on the spittle-soaked mouse and accidentaly clicked on the THIRD window that had popped up... one that had not yet loaded...

(( Insert dramatic time elapse sequence ))

Ryou Bakura sighed as the front door dhut behind him, kicking off his tennis shoes rather dejectedly. Shrugging off his spiffy supermarket cashier's smock, he tossed the minty green linen on the coat rack, and missed horribly.

"Yami..." he groaned aloud when he saw the television left on, that spiffish static stuff floating around onscreen. Snow, or ants. Whatever that show's called.

Halfway to the television, the russet-eyed teen froze when he caught sight of the transfixed Bakura, seemingly mesmerised by the living room wall. His knees were hugged to his chest, rocking back and forth slowly. Ryou was instantly perturbed as to what could unsettle the psycho-killing-hardass of a British-looking guy, for he obviously was _not _ alright. And so he asked what any intelligent person would ask.

"Are you alright?"

That's right. Show off that cashier ingenuity.

"I had no idea... what was coming." the deeply disturnbed tomb robber murmured. "I thought... I thought my intentions were good enough..."

Ryou noticed his computer on. Not bothering to question his self-teaching yami as to how he turned it on, he saw the contents of the screen... and promptly fell over.

"YAMI!" he yelped. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON A YAOI SITE?" Ater considering this for a moment, the high-strung smock-sporter's features softened. "Yami... is there something you want to tell me?"

"I WAS BLIND-SIDED!" Bakura wailed, collapsing into a deeply-scarred heap of sibbing bishie-ness. "I WAS DRAWN IN BY THE TEMPTATION OF GOLD MYSTERY!" He leapt to his feet, grabbing his hikari harshly by the shoudlers. "THERE WERE STORIES ABOUT US! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THINGS THEY SAID?"

Bakura's eeeeeety-bitty Memory Bubble:

_Yami Bakura was sitting on the couch. Ryou was vacuuming. Ryou beagn vacuuming the couch. Ryou accidentally vacuumed off Yami Bakura's shirt._

_Shirtless Yami Bakura didn't seem to notice, but continued reading his romance novel called "Two Hot Guys Making Out". Deep. Very deep._

"_Whew! It's hot in here." Ryou said. He went to turn down the thermostat, but it was broken. So he took off his shirt. He was really sweaty._

_Yami Bakura looked up from his romance-novel._

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_I'm a hot guy, and you're a hot guy... **LET'S MAKE OUT**."_

_Dramatic music swells in the background as the two shirtless, sweaty bishonen began-_

"Okay, **_OKAY!"_** Ryou flailed his arms to dissolve the eeeeeeety-bitty memory bubble that had materialized between the two bishonen. He sighed and sympathetically patted his sobbing yami.

"There there. We're all victim to lemon pop-ups sooner or later."

After assuring his hysterical darker half that the thermostat was far from broken and that he didn't vacuum the couch (which accounted for the fumes of dust that issued everytime someone sat down), Ryou shut down the computer.

'Oh, _ hell_.' he thought. 'It got hot in here all of a sudden...' Not wanting to further alarm his already psychologically-regressing yami, the hikari recheckd the thermostat and swore to himself he woudl retain all clothing articles.

"74 degrees F..." he began. "Then why is it so bloody...?"

And then he smelled smoke. Horrified, Ryou spun about and saw his spiffy green cashier's smock aflame, having caught on the heater he had tossed it upon. Was it mentioned that curtains were hanging directly above that? And that the couch was touched by those?

_**CRASH! SHATTER!**_

The ninja star-headed teen didn't even bother looking up from his Gameboy, curled up on the couch in the Starry Pajamas of Spiff. Nor did the OTHER ( older )ninja star-headed teen, but he wouldn't really be called a teen, would he?

"Huh." The older I-Have-Lethal-Hair teen grunted, boredly flipping through the channels, stomach-down on the living room floor. "Sounds like Malik didn't do his homework."

The jammie-sporter looked lazily over at the math book surrounded by broken glass, laying somewhere in the front room. "Yeah."

Lack of conversation prevailed.

"...maybe someone should go pick it up." Gameboy added.

"...Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

They both turned to each other. Simultaneously, "Nah."

And suddenly... _there was a knock at the door._

The two both glanced at each other again. It was a Battle Of Wills...

The two stared fiercely at each other, sparks flying from the friction of the two gazes. Said sparks leapt on to Sugoroko, who had come upstairs to get a soda, and the elderly shopkeeper caught aflame. Sprouting brilliant gold and red plumage of not-quite-such-pleasantness, Yugi's grandfather promptly fell off of the balcony that had seemingly appeared. No one noticed.

And finally... AH! There it was - Yugi ultimate attack... _The Chibi Eyes of DOOM._

"Can't... resist..." Yami grunted, shaking his head in order to clear it of the happy thoughts. Like bunnies. And dancing Kuribos. Happy stuff. "Too... cute..."

"FINE! You win!" the pride-wounded pharaoh cried in exasperation at his aibou's innocent look, straightening and stomping off to answer the door.

Making a point to avoid the broken glass and math book, but not to clean the mess, the Weapon-of-Mass-Destruction-haired pharaoh moodily clasped the barss doorhandle and wrenched it open. "How may I help y..." the question died on his lips as the King of Games beheld the most terrifying sight his 5,000 year-old eyes had ever beheld. More terrifying than the countless slaughters, wars, demons, gods of darkness, and evil slime he had ever witnessed...

"Hello." greeted the smooth-voiced stranger. Goldish-silverish-purplish-bluish-scarletish flecks were set like gems in her SPARKLING emerald eyes, which Yami only vaguely recognized as physically impossible. Perfectly layered sunset-sea-blue locks with rosemary streaks fell to her perfectly sculpted shoulders, blowing in a dramatic and conveniently timed breeze. An INCONSPICUOUS gold chain held an INCONSPICUOUS gold item which looked both threatening, powerful, and _threatening. _

"I heard your window breaking from 20 blocks away, since I have such sharp hearing, and decided I should come fix it for you just because I enjoy helping people out. I can mend in about six seconds, and could tell by the impact that it was a math book. So, I rode my gryphon, Casablancette, over as fast as I could..." she motioned to a golden-furred and lavender-highlighted gryphon that was currently rebuilding Sugorokor's car in the driveway with a series of complicated procedures and equipment. Once more, Yami was only vaguely aware of the impossibilty.

"...but we got here 10 seconds sooner because I slowed down time with my Sennen Item. Anyway, my name is Trejolieleffilleihaveasennenitemthatcanreadmindsandslowdowntimeandimatenthdegreeblackbeltattheageof16whichjustsohappenstobeyouragebutitsimpossibletodothatat16butididitcuzimjustthatgood Smith." Of course, it just so happened that name meanT 'REALLY BEAUTIFUL PERSON THAT YOU SHOULD FALL MADLY IN LOVE WITH' in some obscure Arabic dialiect. "And I'm going to be your new neighbor." She smiled, and for a moment it seemed there was a rainbow behind her, and birds were chirping, and that the sun would decide to start early and some out just to shine on so perfect being.

Yami's eyes resembled 60's headlights as the pharaoh promptly slammed the door shut... locked it... threw the latch... fastened the chain... and pushed a large table against the entryway.

"Yami..?" came Yugi's inquery from the living room. "Who was it?"

The pharaoh wiped away the cold sweat that had overthrown his brow. "Get Away from the windows, Yugi! THERE'S A MARY SUE!"

From the seventh layer of his empire of fire-and-brimstone, Anubis watched the scene from one of those spiffy All-Seeing Glasses all the bad guys seem to have in anime. "Whoa, I would SO not like to be that guy."

**N'ed.**

Squee. Hopefully this fic isn't breaking any rules, ne-;; Euh... I really want to get this posted since I have sparring in the morning, so pretend I said something deeply clever.

**Oh yeah. I went there.**


	2. Tall, Dark, and Angsty

I Dream of Microwaves

Part 2

Squee. I got reviews. X3 I feel so loved now.

Don't ask me about this chapter... 66;; It followed me home one day. I'm very frightened. Ehee?

By a freak turn of events, the line breaks in the last chapter went on strike and had to be taken out by strategically placed margine snipers. Unfortunately for those of you who seem to thrive on linebreaks ( rather than the pretty words they separate ) I'm lazy and incentive eludes me. :D Fwee.

(( All future comments made by teh muse Usako Ryou-chan shall be identified via italics. ))

_How are people supposed to know where one scene ended and the next bega... AM I IN A BUNNY SUIT!_

Hai. And cynical.

LinebreaklinebreaklinebreakBANGAHHHH!

There are certain rules that must be obeyed in anime. Not the ones set up by Authoresses, the very ones taken, obliterated, ravaged, set afire, blown to infinitesimal pieces with M80's, utterly ignored and had unspeakable things done to them by drunken college fraternity brothers, but fundamental rules of reality.

One such fundamental rule is that it's remarkably simple to break the remaining laws, but that's not particularly relevant here. No, the rule in effect was that, at any given moment, there must be an angsty bishounen on a rooftop with a cloak billowing dramatcially in the wind.

And yet, despite his hoards upon hoards of fangirls, his authentic bishounenly good looks, his perpetually over-starched cloak and tendency to be indubitably angsty, Seto Kaiba was _not _ the bishounen in which this description infers.

In fact, he was more or less blithely unaware of the bishounen standing purposefully atop his building, until he himself was _on _ the roof. And he was not happy about the reason why.

"_Nii-sama, I lost my frisbee." _

"_Well, then go find it."_

"_But..."_

"_But what?"_

"_I know where it is."_

"_Go get it then."_

"_But..."_

"_But what?_"

"_It's on the roof."_

_Sigh. "Then tell one of my cronies to go get it."_

"_But..."_

"WHAT!"

"_It's their day off."_

_Eye-twtiching, "Don't you have some OTHER toy to play with?"_

"_But..."_

"_But _WHAT, _dammit!"_

"_Turning on teh chibi, "It was my faaavorite!"_

_SLAM! Papers scatter. "FINE! I'll get your damn frisbee!"_

_The young CEO stood bolt upright from his spiffy spinny chair, which, as its namesake, began to rotate with the violent force the teen had left it with. The obnoxiously large door shut with an equally obnoxious _slam!

_Mokuba promptly appropriated the CEO's wallet, which was laid conveniently on the desk. To no one in particular, "I'm sure Nii-sama wouldn't miss a few hundred thousand yen."_

Of course, the last snippet had failed to flag down the CEO, him being out of the room and all. But that's not important.

"What the HELL are you doing up here?" the teen growled, hair whipping in its own nonexistant wind. No one notices the lack of explanantion as to how he got _onto _ the large skyscraper roof. Nor does Kaiba does notice that it would be physically impossible for his 90-pound brother to throw a frisbee onto the 678-story roof.

"I am doing only as I have been compelled to do by fate." came the angsty reply. "I am condemned to remain here, watching without a voice, learning without the ability to interact, and crippled to prevent the tragic..." Sapphire locks fluttered beside his perfectly structured face as he continued. "I have been sentenced to live without a life."

"To stand on a rooftop and be angsty."

"...yes."

"Well..." the CEO, quite irked but not revealing so, dramatically whipped an ominous and inconspicuoualy convenient remote from his coat. "I can help you with that."

Just as the CEO pressed the irresistably shiny button, a huge Blue Eyes White Dragon helicopter appeared from nowhere. Using his uber helicopter-mounting sk1llz, Kaiba somehow managed to climb into the midair helicopter's cockpit, contrary to laws of physics and gravity.

The hunk of shiny metal rocketed into the angsty bishounen, who, caught off-guard from behind, clawed vainly at the air as several unsavory squelches and cracks were heard. Rather unaffected by the stomach-churning sound effects, the young man simply accelerated the aircraft from the roof, an expresison like a small boy watching Saturday morning 'toons. Unaccustomed to the now nose-heavy flying style, however, the niftabulous helicopter promptly began plummeting to the streets below.

"Euuuuhh...? What's that...?'

"OHMIGOD! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

"_AAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!_"

_**CRASH!**_

"M... my _appendix! _Oh dear God, **_the pain!"_**

"**I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!"**

"MY GLASSES! They're ruined!"

"I'm bleeeeeding..."

"The light! THE LIGHT! Oh, how it _burns!_"

"Wow! This is better than cable!"

"**_MY APPENDIX!"_**

"To hell with your damn appendix! **_WHAT ABOUT MY GLASSES!"_**

A mini-crater in the street encircled the now totaled helicopter, the young CEO looking smugly satisfied as he exited. He smirked at the now unidetifiable lump of flesh that was perhaps the bishounen's torso.

"See? I got you off of that roof now."

No repsonse.

He nudged him with his 400,000,000,000,000 yen show-covered toe...

A rather unappealing crack issued forth.

"..._and _ I ended your depressed existence. No need to thank me."

Supposedly impermeable to the deathcries that surrounded him ( or perhaps not caring ) the uber tall teen surveyed his messed-up bitchin' wheels with disdain. Or bitchin' wings. Whatever.

"Gah... I'll have to get a damn repair man... oh well."

_Linebreeeeeeaaaaaakkkkkkk...ness._

"Ooooooooh! My dog Jelly likes to roam, one day Jelly left his home! He came back, nice and clean, where oh where has Jelly Bean? Jelly Bean, Jelly Bean, where oh where has Jelly Bean? Jelly Bean, Jelly Bean, where oh where has Jelly Be-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

The bus driver was livid. The other passengers were scared. The singer was scandalized.

The Singer, as they shall be mentioned until their name is inevitably revealed, will reamin devoid of a description because the writer has only had 3 cups of coffee. At any rate, they were pissed.

...he was pissed. Yes, the lazy authoress has decided it was guy.

...and he was pissed.

"Stop what?" he asked in a deceptively ignorant tone.

"Stop singing, dammit!" If looks were toothpicks, Singer would have been vvvveerrryyy prickly.

Pouting, " I only started singing to entertain the blind passenger!" he retorted innocently, pointing to the seemingly comatose bum in seat before him.

"That was _47 HOURS AGO!"_

Little did the two notice that the remaining passengers had hurled themselves from the windows, rather than face the wrath of the tone-deaf caterwauling and nerve-grating vein-poppiness. Indeed, they _weren't_ very intelligent, as one might have guessed from the unappetizing squishes coming from beneath the bus.

"You don't like my singing?"

"_I DESPISE IT WITH THE INTENSITY OF A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS!"_

Enraged to the point of a mental breakdown, the bus driver failed to notice the looming building that was... um... _looming _ within the bus's path. And so he kept driving. And yelling. And popping veins. And _driving. _ And -

_**CRASHBANGBOOMSHATTERSQUEALKWERKAAAAHHHPINTO!**_

The infamous Museum ( no idea what its name is... oo;; ) now had a large gaping hole in its side. As well as several injured civilians under rubble. And a partcularly large crack in the middle of the Tablet of the Pharaoh...

GASP! O.O

_THE PLOT THICKENS!_

**_BUM BUM BBBUUUMMMM!_**

_,...breakybreakybreakybreaky..._

...uh...yeah. oo;; Sorry 'bout the lack of length and whatnot, but cut me some slack. XP I'm not even supposed to be on this computer... um... I mean...

...LOOK! BISHIE IN A BUNNY SUIT-points-

_What the hell-_

"_OHMIGODBISHIEBISHIEBISHIEBISHIE!11!"_

- Cue Usako Ryou-chan's screams of horror. -


	3. Never Lend Money To a Generic Bird

I Dream of Microwaves

Part 3

**Oh.**

**My.**

**Good.**

**Golly.**

**GOSHNESS! O.O**

**Voices actually _UPDATED_?**

That's right, lads and lassies - after four ( Count 'em, FOUR ) months, I've finally managed to progress from twiddling my thumbs to doing something relatively productive with them.

... stop looking at me like that.

Squ33 to mah reviewers. B4 j00 3y3 qu4k3 in 4w3.

(( Warning - Bad length equals major suxor4ge. Gomen ne. ))

...linebreak...

No doubt the creators of the microwave in question had not meant for the nuclear box to be used in ... a 'time machine', and no doubt it was a mercy they were unaware of such a violation. The originators of the lawn mower would have been equally distressed, as that model in particular had been the ultimatum of their mechanical genius. Even more distraught would have been the dishwasher producers, for the fruit of their labors was now disfigured into a macabre of machinery parts. The toaster was not such a loss; the shiny bastard always burnt their toast.

Condolences and remorse aside, a certain Egyptian bishonen was excercising his ass-chewing technique on his yami, the latter becoming increasingly sulky.

The spirit imitated his hikari's voice with ample squeakiness, "'Yami, do the dishes, yami, eat your veggies, yami, stop committing mass genocide with a pickax.' Keh! It's always _my_ fault, isn't it?"

Malik twitched. "You're. The one. That BUILT. The effing thing."

"Details, details."

Little did they know that such a trifling bickerfest was scoffable in comparison to what awaited them in a few short hours. Such a devastating occurence would be apocalyptic in every aspect; more devastating than a worldwide pocky shortage, more disturbing than Insector Haga in a speedo, and incomparably more dreadful than the day that Toonami would mutilate, dub, and air _Naruto_. It would be horrifying, scarring, dumbfounding, excruciating, and decidedly... not pleasant.

And it all may have been prevented if the window had been closed.

For at that moment, a bird ( the species shall not be described, since it is of too much relevance ) flew in, ignoring its biological clock, and perched itself in Yami Malik's hair. Malik's upraised forefinger halted in mid-admonishment, as did his sentence cut off into a grammatically incorrect fragment.

There was an awkward silence, broken only by the content chirrups of the nameless bird. Malik blinked. And blinked again. And blinked again. An eyebrow slowly made its way above the other.

"Yami..." he began slowly, as if still thinking of what to say. "... is there... a _birdnest_...?"

Chirrup. Chirrup.

"...in your _hair?_"

The sadist looked aghast. "Hikari, where _ever _ do you get such ridiculous notions?"

A birdhouse promptly fell from the voluminous mass of yami-hair. The bird gave a indignant 'fweet' and darted out of the still-open window.

"..."

"...'

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

'... damn. He owed me money, too."

"..."

"..."

"...Yami. Go. Take. A shower."

"Er... 'fraid I can't."

Something that sounded suspiciously like teeth grinding together prevailed in the small guestroom. "And... why _the hell **not**_?"

"Well..." The spirit sheepishly gestured to the Time Machine. "Shower's in there."

Silence.

"... er... what's that chair for, hikari? Ehe, why do you look... alll.. all... deranged... and stuff?.."

Fortunately for the psychotic spirit, Malik had forgotten that the birdhouse was still lying on the floor. With a vague splintering crack, Malik's foot became stuck in the overly elaborate bird accomodation. Yami Malik took the oppurtunity to fling himself out of the window, thus escaping the wrath of his livid hikari.

"_FUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUFUUUUUUU!_"

Passers-by briefly ponder as to why the authoress changed his signature maniacal laughter, just as Yami Malik decapitiated them with his Pointy-Headed Decapitating Prowess.

...oO;;...

Frah. Pardon the unpardonable length. If I waited another few months to get it a decent length, I would probably forget where I was going with it... --;;

_-GASHP!- You mean there's a PLOT!_

... T-T;;

_:P_

... nnyyyyeeeaaaahhhh... hopefully by butchering these chapters into mutated segments I can come up with crap faster. Mrow.

_Writing Track: _Cats on Mars, _Cowboy Bebop_


	4. How Do You Wash Leather Pants?

_I Dream of Microwaves_

_Part 3.5 ( Nyeh )_

Reviewers are teh pwn. Carrots are not.

**TO THE GALLOWS! X3**

_--;;_

_...suuupppaaalinebreak..._

Ryou Bakura was a composed and compatible Japanese citizen. He knew his way around things, remained calm in tight corners, and had impeccable tact and manners. Most importantly, Ryou Bakura knew how to keep his cool.

And he was currently on the brink of hysteria.

The fire was holding an outrageous parade across Ryou's furniture and possessions, spreading just as swiftly as the newest shipping fad. He gave a startled yelp as an overly-friendly flame glomped his pants cuff.The mop-top bishonen pranced about in a curious one-legged dance, frantically beating at the offending inferno. Another affectionate combustion made its way up his remaining pants leg, turning the dance into more an offbeat hopskip. Or a midseizure can-can.

"_Yami!_" he squeaked, one pupil generously larger than the other as his eyes twitched. "What are you _doing?_ Help me get this under contr-"

Yami Bakura, apparently suffering from the still-fresh trauma, was in no condition to do anything of the sort. Retaining his upright fetal position, the psycho-savvy spirit was mumbling to himself incoherently. His fingers twitched now and then, as if anxious to strangle the nearest breathing lifeform until it ceased doing so. One eye bugged sickeningly while the other seemed to have lost its pupil. It was decidedly unpleasant.

Jerking violently at the sound of his hikari's voice, the eccentric Egyptian gave the light an incredulous 'Mweh?' look, before charging past with a perverse desire to flee the scene of his horrible experience. And flung himself through the nearest window.

The authoress ponders the possibility that she enjoys bishonen plummeting to their doom slightly more than necessary.

Ryou broke the international record for largest sweatdrop as a vague _thump _ announced the tomb robber's reunion with the ground. Panic somewhat abated by the fact his home was groundlevel, the albino sighed, irritated as he was forced to exit the blazing house as well.

... through the door, that is.

"...I think I broke my leg..." Yami Bakura stated flatly. The sudden tumble seemed to have brought him to his senses, at least. Gravity disagreed with his intent to get out of his half-somersault position against a convenient tree, however, and so the once-feared tomb robber was resigned to scowling expectantly at his approaching hikari.

"Good. Now I've got an excuse to have you put to sleep." he muttered sardonically, half-wondering if his not-too-bright neighbors had developed the sense to call the fire department yet.

Bakura quirked a brow at Ryou's uncustomary brusqueness. "And just what crawled up _your_ ass?"

The albino glanced incredulously at his not-quite-right-with-gravity yami, vein popping. "Hell_o?_ Our _ house is burning down! _"

Bakura blinked. "Is _that_ why it feels so effing hot out here?"

As if on cue, a wailing siren tore through the semi-serene neighborhood. A deep red fire engine veered haphazardly on the hairpin turn, skidding rather precariously across the newly-paved road. The tires wailed piercingly as they so often do in crappy American action movies as the hulking vehicle halted, stopping on the other side of the street.

"_Move, move, move!_" The apparent fire chief barked over the din of commands and exaggerated grunts. A half dozen men toppled out of the truck, faces set as if they were bracing to plunge into the gates of hell. Though satisfied with the men's apparent determination, Ryou couldn't help but notice they were doing nothing to retrieve the firehose from teh back of the truck.

"Excuse me..." he tapped the firechief gingerly on the shoulder, half-expecting the crazed man to rip his arm off. The chief, a wall of a man with a cliched bristling moustache to boot, jerked to face the young man with blatant impatience. "_What is it!"_ Apparently, his speech was in desperate need of a volume dial.

Surpsingly calm and patient in such a volatile situation, Ryou could not retain a grimace. "My house is right _there._" He gestured vaguely to what once was a building, now blazing merrily in the background ( Bakura was still struggling to escape his uncomfortable position ).

The firechief's eyes seemed to double as he began to shake the bishie psychotically. "_ARE YOU **INSANE!**_" he asked rather ironically. "_LOOK!_"

He forcibly turned the moptop to face his neighbor's yard, where in a tree, mewing rather uneasily at the approaching firemen...

... was a cat.

Ryou facefaulted as the fireman began to sob hysterically. "What kind of person ARE you! Thinking of only **YOURSELF!** That cat could be in slight discomfort for almost **_twenty minutes_**, you _sick, sick man!"_

A fellow fireman pulled the chief away, whom began to bawl openly on his subordinate's shoulder. The fireman gave Ryou a disgusted look, shaking his head. "First the trick candlestick factory(1), and now _this?_"

The bewildered bishonen was left in his yard, next to his still struggling yami, in front of his smouldering home, feeling decidedly, royally pissed. A vague thud announced his yami's reunion with his equilibrium as the spitrit regained his feet. Brushing himself off, he surveyed the now ash-and-ember building with only slight interest. "Wow. That was weird."

"_Weird?_" Ryou sighed for about the umpteenth time that night. "This is_ bad_. Just as bad as the time you tried to join that boxing class..."

"_In the red trunks, the intercontinental champion Daitoshu Anko, four-time heavyweight champion of the world! And, in the... er... leather pants and motorcycle jacket...? Er, Touzoku Bakura! Ah, and there's the bell, and Anko opens with a jab and... Bakura's... just... standing there... and Anko throws and misses a right hook, and... wait, where did Bakura get that machete...?"_

"..."

"..."

"...never mind. That was worse."

Bakura pouted. "I'll say. Bastard got blood all over my favorite pants."

Ryou scowled. "Yami, how are we going to _pay _ for this? We didn't even have insurance..."

Behind the two, the firemen had cast aside the ladder, deigning it as useless and instead began chopping down the tree. By gnawing on it.

The yami waved his hikari's distress aside. " Re_lax_. You've got a job, right?"

Ryou cast him a flat glance. "Yes, I do. And you're going to get one as well."

The tree began to fall with a crackle; the cat leapt aside as it collapsed onto the firetruck, which abruptly exploded. No one noticed this.

The yami glared daggers of death and pointy discomfort, chest puffing indignantly. "_Me!_ I will not stoop to such a level as to toil senselessly at the beck and call of some tyrannic entity! Straining for some pompous bastard whom has never once felt the yoke of labor, whose pocketbook fluorishes at the price of my sweat and blood, ounce per unjust _ounce!_"

"Oh, but robbing a blind, defenseless old woman is fine, right?" He grabbed the back of his yami's spiky/fluffy/poofy/fuzzy hair and began to drag him down the street, much to the spirit's protest and growling. "Kudos for the poetry, but unless you plan on becoming the next Shakespeare, you're getting a job."

They made slow way towards the Kame Game Shop; Ryou was pretty sure Yugi wouldn't mind their crashing at his place.

Yugi would be unable to do so, as he had just about lost his mind at the pharaoh's outcry. Gameboy falling from his nerveless fingers, the short-but-'vertically-challenged'-in-politically-correct-terms duelist stared at his yami, speechless.

Yami was a bit more quick to act. "Quick - _to the battlestations!_" He pointed to the living room closet.

The Batman 'Nanananananananananananananananana' song began to play ( from where, no one is entirely sure ) as the two charged into the mothball and unfashionable coat-ridden closet, each sliding down the two rails that were oddly there.

The authoress grabs a bottle of bleach in order to clean the dirty minds of readers.

( _Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) _The two had somehow donned Batman and Robin costumes in the 2.203945 seconds they had in privacy, omitting the headwear. The hair, you see.

( _Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) _Dashing across the lair that was supposedly beneath Yugi's house, but really in a remote part of Schekoslovakia, the two leapt into the open cockpits of a large, so-cliched-it-was-almost-original-but-wasn't mecha robot... thing. Lactose intolerant readers vomit with the cheesiness of it all.

( _Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) _Each pressing a button in their respective co-cockpits with ample drama, the mechoid robot that was so-cliched-it-was-almost-orignal-but-wasn't erupted from the lair with equally so-cliched-cliched-it-was-almost-original-but-wasn't rocket boosters, blasting through the trapdoor on the streetcorner before the Kame Game Shop, even though the base was located in a remote part of Schekoslovakia.

... shut up.

( _Nananananananananananananananana - A- TEM! YU-GI! ) _The mechoid robot rather anticlimactically... stepped on Trejolielefilleihaveasennenitemthatcanreadmindsandslowdowntimeandimatenthdegreeblackbeltattheageof16whichjustsohappenstobeyouragebutitsimpossibletodothatat16butididitcuzimjustthatgood Smith, who hissed and... melted. Yugi blinked.

"Wow. That was pretty anticlimactic."

"Well, probably just the authoress's way of copping out of some vaguely interesting and amusing fight scene involving pineapple juice and various offensive remarks alluding to our choice of hairstyle..."

"..."

"..."

"... uh... yami?"

"Mm?"

"... where did we get this, anyway?"

"Gundam crossover."

"Ah."

**N'ed**

...c0w3rb4t3h4nticlim4cticn3ss...

fingers fall off- T-T Ew...

_(1) - Shameless reference to TypoNumber5's infamous trick candle factory escapade_

_Writing Track: '_Spy' - _Cowboy Bebop_


End file.
